


Darkness

by fanaticalgeek



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M, angel!Sherlock, but more...angel bashing than specifically homophobia, demon!John, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanaticalgeek/pseuds/fanaticalgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon!John is unlike the others. He's more a perfect soldier than an instigator of chaos. Cue meeting one nosy angel, and the uncovering of secrets begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a piece of artwork on deviantart (that doesn't appear to exist anymore). The author asked for someone to write a story based on their art, and I wrote this story. This was originally posted as a comment fic a few years ago.
> 
> Sorry if it reads...oddly. It does for me, but idk why. I welcome constructive criticism on all my works.
> 
> This work is not meant to offend anyone, and I sincerely apologize if it offends you.

John never had agreed with his brethren. Not that he could honestly say that he was morally any better, because—let’s be honest—he _had_ killed people, sometimes needlessly, though he always had a reason. He was—metaphorically—cold, practically emotionless unless it was passion and rage. But he never tortured those he killed. Not for his own pleasure like the other demons.

Whenever he was sent on a mission, he got the job done, never took “rabbit trails” (as humans called them) for his own desire. Which made him unpopular with the other demons, though Lucifer enjoyed his success rate, even if he would’ve preferred John do a bit more corrupting. But John was a perfect little soldier of Hell, doing what he was told—no more, no less.

But that’s how John was. Sometimes, he wondered what his existence would be like if he’d been destined to be an angel… But he wasn’t, so he never pondered long. He respected the angels, those of God’s Chosen. They never provoked the demons unless commanded, merely defending themselves and the humans when demons attacked.

Maybe that explained why, on a regular mission to feed corruption to another politician, John ended up killing one of his own.

The demon in question had been taunting one of the most beautiful angels John had ever seen. The angel had been ignoring the demon, and instead, was quietly directing a gray-haired Inspector from Scotland Yard towards the right suspect of the most recent serial killings.

The demon—not John—had taken offense to being ignored and struck out, clawing down the angel’s face and knocking him down.

John felt rage bubble forth, so he didn’t think, he just acted. In seconds he had summoned the fiery pistol he rarely used and shot the—in his opinion—rogue demon. With a shriek, the demon collapsed, and the gun in John’s hand disappeared in smoke.

The angel threw the demon’s body away from himself and sat up, piercing John with a pale gaze surrounded by slowly mending slices on his cheek. John calmly stared back, his pointed tail swaying gently behind him.

“…You’re different,” the dark-haired angel murmured.

John shrugged, remaining silent.

“Why did you do that?”

John shrugged again. “He had no reason to attack you. You didn’t do anything to him.”

“It’s a demon’s nature to cause trouble where there isn’t any.”

“Not all of us. Some of us just do what we’re told.”

“You weren’t told to kill him.”

John shrugged once again, face blank. “He was out of line.”

The angel’s wings fluttered minutely with some emotion John couldn’t identify. “…What is your name?”

“John.”

The angel blinked in surprise. “Giving me your name gives me power over you. Why would you tell me so readily?”

“You won’t use that power against me,” John said matter-of-factly.

“How can you be sure?”

“You’re one of the Chosen.”

“Just because I’m Chosen doesn’t mean I’m good all of the time. We’re enemies.”

“Our kinds are, yes. But I can tell you won’t use it against me.”

“John.”

“Yes?” he asked mildly.

The angel continued to stare, seemingly waiting for something, but John merely blinked back, not fidgeting under the scrutiny. After a few moments, the angel spoke again, “My name is Sherlock.”

“Nice to meet you, Sherlock,” John nodded, turning to continue along his path. He paid little attention to the cool, curious gaze that followed him.

\-----

Sherlock had never been a typical angel. Then again, why anyone would want to be like so many others is a mystery, especially since God made them all different on purpose, right? Sherlock wasn’t…bad. But he didn’t go out of his way to be good either. He wasn’t shunned by the other angels, as that would be against their nature, but he was definitely…apart from the rest. Even Mycroft tried to talk him into doing some of the stereotypical activities the others did, but Sherlock couldn’t play the harp to save his life, nor did he enjoy singing. Of course, he praised God, but he did it through his work and the tasks requested of him.

And God said He didn’t mind. To each his own, and what-not.

So Sherlock was alone in his difference, with the angels.

And then he met John. A demon unlike any other. A demon that trusted an angel, his sworn enemy, with his _name_ the first time they met, had in fact killed another of his own kind to save an immortal enemy.

Sherlock did not understand.

\-----

The next time they saw each other, Sherlock was aiding Scotland Yard once again and John was escorting a soul to hell.

Sherlock stepped in front of him. “How are you different?”

John shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know. Why are _you_ different?”

“How do you know if I’m different?”

“You’re talking to me.”

“Hmm. I suppose it _is_ unusual for an angel and a demon to hold a conversation of any kind.”

John merely hummed. “The killer they’re looking for is approaching her next victim.”

Sherlock blinked. “Her?”

John nodded. “Hell keeps an eye on those that do evil works. A couple of demons were sent to aid her. Can’t tell you where, just that she’s close.”

“…Thank you.”

John merely nodded again.

\-----

The thing about most demons is their tenacity and vengefulness. And they always held grudges.

As it turned out, the demon John had killed had a brother.

A bigger, higher-power, angry brother.

John didn’t flinch when the larger demon summoned the blue fire, the hottest of any, and aimed it at him. He merely closed his eyes in anticipation…but the fire never touched him. Instead, he felt a chill in front of him and the heat wrap around to both sides.

Curious, he opened his eyes to see Sherlock standing before him, dark-tipped wings outspread and his gaze boring into John. With such beautiful wings and sharp features, he reminded John of an angel of vengeance. John’s eyes uncharacteristically widened in surprise, his tail curling around his leg with something akin to wariness—if a tail could have emotions.

Sherlock’s wings tucked back close to his body as he spun to question the still rather angry demon.

But the demon got the first words, “So you’re an angel-fucker, eh? I though God looked down on homosexuality. Trying to gut us from the inside? Trying to buy your way into Heaven with your _services_?” he spat. “Let me tell you, a demon can _never_ get into Heaven. They kicked us out, remember?”

“I remember,” John replied quietly. “That was never my intention.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You killed my brother for this angel-freak! You’ve not been the same since that battle with St. Raphael and St. Barachiel centuries ago.”

“What happened in the battle?” Sherlock muttered softly, for John’s ears alone.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m still a demon. Your brother was breaking the rules.”

“Damn the rules!” the demon cried. “Lucifer doesn’t care!” The demon raised his fiery claws for another attempt, but Sherlock twitched his wings and the demon backed down. “I’ll be seeing you later, in Hell, where not even the angel-freak can reach you.” With that, he and his cronies were gone.

“Why did you do that?” John growled, anger rising. He belatedly wondered where all these emotions were coming from; he’d never really felt any until Sherlock came along.

“I was returning the favor,” Sherlock replied mildly, watching John’s emotional changes with fascination.

“There was no need.”

“Oh, but there was. You would have been incinerated by that blast.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a wish to be exterminated from existence?”

John shrugged, face falling back into its usual blandness, though there were still lines of anger that most would miss. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to _me_. You are an anomaly. I’ve never seen anything like you before. It’s fascinating.”

“Glad I amuse you.” The anger was rising again. “Now kindly fuck off.” He pushed past Sherlock roughly.

“Is that all the thanks I get?”

“Yes!”

Sherlock smirked. “Until next time, John.”

\-----

“Why do you insist on seeking out that…demon?” Mycroft asked one morning during another of his fruitless attempts to encourage Sherlock to join the choir.

“He’s different from the others,” was Sherlock’s reply as he continued to inspect the bird that slept peacefully on the table before him.

“If you’re not careful, Sherlock, he’ll turn you.”

“I won’t go against the Lord, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides, He hasn’t warned me against it. Until He does, I’ll do as I wish.”

Mycroft huffed and left without another word.

Sherlock smiled to himself.

\-----

Sherlock “ran into” John multiple times over the next few months. Or was it years? It was so hard to compare his time to that measured by humans… John appeared to be over his anger by the third consecutive meeting, more resigned to seeing him than upset in any way. However, Sherlock rather thought the apathy worse than the anger.

But John was opening up more, though Sherlock was still unaware of the events the other demon had alluded to, but John clammed up if it was even mentioned.

And then…John kissed him.

Sherlock gasped and stumbled back. “Why did you do that?”

John’s face visibly closed off, his arms crossed over his chest, and his tail twisting into knots before wrapping around his leg. “I figured there was some reason you kept talking to me. And I don’t usually like anyone or have strong emotions for or toward them…but you…” He shook his head, his stance becoming more closed. “Guess I was wrong. I should’ve remembered you lot look down on that kind of thing.”

“It’s not…we only look down on the lust that some vagrants fuel. Not…not when it’s actually…love.” John seemed to shrink even more into himself. “And…you surprised me, that’s all.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he studied John’s defensiveness. “It wasn’t just lust…was it, John?”

John turned his face away.

“It felt like…something more. Or was I imagining things?”

“You know you don’t imagine things. Nothing gets by you,” John’s voice was quiet and resigned.

“John…tell me what happened with Raphael and Barachiel.”

With a sigh and no further prevarication, he began, “It was centuries ago. That last big battle between demons and angels. I don’t know why there hasn’t been one since, but that’s how it goes, I suppose. I was on the front lines. My job was to go for any injured angel. St. Barachiel had been scored down his legs by some higher-class demon (before said demon was destroyed by St. Barachiel’s sword). So…I did what I was told. I went for the injured. It didn’t matter to me that he was an archangel.” Here, he paused and took a deep breath. “His sword went through my left shoulder before I could reach him. It…hurt. Like I was…being burned from the inside out, but not by fire.”

“That’s lightning for you,” Sherlock interrupted.

John shrugged. “But it didn’t kill me.”

“Obviously.”

“It should have. A higher-class demon couldn’t survive a strike from that sword. Why did I?” John shook his head with a sigh. “I twisted away from the burning, pulling out his sword as I did, and as I turned, St. Raphael’s sword gashed my upper leg. I don’t know what happened after that, because I blacked out. When I woke up…” he shrugged again, “I was where I had fallen. My leg had somehow healed, but my shoulder couldn’t move. It’s almost healed now, though.”

“Wait…you were hit with Raphael’s _sword_? Not his staff?”

“Staff? No, it was definitely a sword.”

“ _Oh_.” Sherlock went very still. “Oh, that’s _marvelous_!”

“What? What is it? What’s marvelous?” His body relaxed minutely, leaning more towards surprise.

“You, John!” With a kiss to John’s temple, Sherlock spread his wings and grasped John’s hand. “Come with me.”

“Okay,” he murmured as they lifted into the air.

\-----

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I can’t let you in,” Mycroft stated, standing on the other side of the Pearly Gates. St. Peter watched them with apprehension.

“Why not?” Sherlock snarked. John shifted nervously behind him, tail twitching into knots once again.

“Demons aren’t allowed into Heaven. You know that.”

“But he’s different! Raphael struck him with his sword! It healed the evil in him. What he’s done, he’s done under orders and not because he wanted to!”

“It doesn’t matter, Sherlock. Demons can never enter. It’s the law.”

“Sherlock,” John whispered, gently touching the nearest wing. “You don’t have to do this. I never expected…” He sighed, “It’s fine. It’s all fine. I promise.”

“But…” Sherlock tried.

“No. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“But you don’t belong in Hell!”

John shrugged. “I can’t change the fact that I was sent there.” He turned to St. Peter and Mycroft, “How do I get back down from here? I’ll not bother you any longer than necessary.”

St. Peter pointed to where a descending staircase had appeared, followed by a low rumbling.

John nodded and left.

“John…” Sherlock called softly. The demon in question turned and smiled sadly.

“I’ll see you around, Sherlock.” With that, he was out of sight.

“You know his name?” a deep, but soft voice questioned. Sherlock turned to see the Lord approaching the Gates. “And he, yours?”

“Yes, my Lord. He gave it to me freely.”

“Hmm.” Old and young, wise, kind eyes gazed into him. “What am I, Sherlock?”

“Lord? You are the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and End.”

“And?”

“…You are Agape. You are Love.”

God smiled. “And I know it when I see it. I am sorry, Sherlock, that your demon cannot enter Heaven. He _is_ changed, but We cannot deny what he is. He is a Fallen One. But…” He paused. “But he does not have to return to Hell. He may stay in the shadows of Earth, in the in-between.”

“May I stay with him, Lord?”

With a nod, God turned back to His Kingdom. “You have my blessing, Sherlock, so long as he does not return to evil ways.”

“Thank You.” And Sherlock dove through the clouds with tucked wings, ready to return to John’s side.

\-----

He found John curled in the shadows of a theatre. The shows were long done for the night, and the time was approaching, the time when demons usually returned to Hell.

“John!” Sherlock cried in excitement.

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?”

“I want to be with you.”

“But what about—”

“God said you can’t come to Heaven, but you don’t have to return to Hell. You can stay here on Earth, in the shadows and darkness.”

“And you…?” He tried to hide the hope in his voice, but it was a lost cause.

Sherlock, of course, noticed and smiled softly. He leaned down close to John’s face, wings spread to maintain his balance, and whispered, “I’ll stay here in the darkness with you, John,” and kissed him.


End file.
